


a (passing) fascination

by Zykaben



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And takes a bit to realize that's what he's feeling, Fluff, Michael basically gets a crush on the Season 1 archives gang, Multi, Season/Series 01, Some angst, i suppose???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/pseuds/Zykaben
Summary: When Michael meets Sasha James for the first time in the café, he finds himself intrigued by her, more so than he thought he would have been. The only solution is to follow her back to the archives and spend more time around her and her coworkers.It's just curiosity. Just simple entertainment until they die.(Michael has always been great at lying to everyone, even himself.)
Relationships: Michael | The Distortion/Sasha James/Tim Stoker/Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Sasha James/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 71
Collections: TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021





	a (passing) fascination

**Author's Note:**

> This is for avarice-arts for the TMA valentine's day exchange! I hope you like it.
> 
> Huge thanks to Fly and Bane for editing!

The archival assistant entered the empty café. Michael watched in sadistic glee as she paused  _ just _ for a moment at the chair across from him, excitement writhing through him when she finally sat down. Michael smiled at her, waited for her to speak. He couldn’t breathe the way most of those who truly  _ existed _ did, but he still drank in the atmosphere, taking in her nerves and fear—

Michael felt something in him give a jolt. The assistant didn’t stink of fear. She was nervous, that much was obvious, but she wasn’t  _ afraid. _ Why wasn’t she afraid? She’d  _ seen _ him. Or, well, she’d seen  _ something _ that was closer to what he truly was. Surely she was aware that he was a monster, wasn’t she?

The assistant narrowed her eyes. “What are you?”

So. An assistant that knew he was a monster and had sat across from him anyway. Right. Michael knew that he and Gertrude’s other assistants hadn’t possessed the greatest senses of self-preservation, but this just seemed foolish. Or maybe it wasn’t?

It had been so long since Michael was anything approaching human. Trying to remember anything from his past was like attempting to use a kaleidoscope as a set of binoculars.

Still, this assistant was rather bold. Michael admired that. Maybe. He felt  _ some _ way about it, at least. Emotions were tricky and hard to pin down. In any event, it  _ was _ interesting. Michael felt himself laugh. The assistant’s brow furrowed further.

“It doesn’t matter what I am,” Michael told her. “And, even if I wanted to, how could I? How would a melody describe itself when asked?”

A bit pretentious and overly poetic? Incredibly so. It was more than worth it to see the assistant pull back and blink at him. Michael waited for her response, body thrumming in anticipation of her next words.

Michael once again felt surprise shoot through him as the assistant stood from her chair, crossing her arms and looking altogether unimpressed. “If you’re just going to talk to me in cheap riddles, then I’m going to leave. Don’t bother showing up again.”

No. Michael wasn’t done with her yet. Some feeling, strange and unfamiliar and uncomfortable, tugged at him, made him say, “My apologies. Please, sit back down.” After a few tense moments and a good, hard stare, she did. He continued, “You may call me Michael.”

The assistant recoiled ever so slightly. Not in fear, but in… discomfort? Disgust? It was hard for Michael to tell, really. Most people acted that way, like the name he’d used for so long didn’t fit him. All part of the Twisting Deciet’s nature, he supposed.

The assistant, despite her obvious reservations, was still not afraid when she asked, “So what is it that you want,  _ Michael?” _

She said his name like a lie they both knew to be false, like she was only saying it to keep up a paper-thin charade. Michael felt something in him lurch, a sudden flash of  _ feeling, _ but he couldn’t identify it. Was it positive? Negative? Both? He couldn’t tell. Not being able to tell had never bothered him before, but now… 

Michael flashed a winning smile, too wide and sharp to be anything but sinister. “Why, I want to help.”

The assistant did not appear comforted by this, but something sparked in her eyes. “Help? With what? Do you want to stop Jane Prentiss?”

Oh, how  _ precious. _ Michael couldn’t help but laugh. “You truly have no idea what is  _ really _ going on, do you?”

Michael had been like that, once. Not knowing what was truly happening in the archives. A pity that this assistant was likely to die, fascinating as she was.

“I don’t particularly care if you and your companions live or die,” Michael explained, “but the flesh-hive was always particularly rash. No, I want to be  _ friends.” _

With that, Michael put his hand on hers. He heard the sharp breath that hissed through her teeth, saw the way her wide eyes were fixed on their hands, could  _ feel _ the air begin to hum with the first traces of true, genuine fear from her. It was exhilarating, it was  _ intoxicating, _ it was—

The assistant’s fingers curled around his hand and squeezed.  _ “Friends _ would care if their friends lived or died.”

Michael was frozen. “What?”

“You want to be  _ friends, _ didn’t you just say?” The assistant asked, her fear dancing on his tongue and her eyes burning into him. “Then you should care if I die.”

That was—this wasn’t—what?

The assistant let go and pulled away, leaving Michael to stare as she stood from her chair. “When you  _ actually _ want to be friends, then I guess you know where to find me.” Seemingly satisfied, she nodded to herself and began to walk out.

Wait, no, Michael wasn’t done with her, she hadn’t—she hadn’t explained anything, hadn’t told him what she’d done to make him feel so… so off-balance.

“Wait.”

The assistant stopped but she did not look back.

“I—if you would be interested in saving their lives—Jon, Martin, and Tim—then…” Then what? He’d planned on telling her that he would be waiting for her in Hanwell Cemetery, so that he could lead her to one of the victims of the flesh-hive. But now he was… reluctant? No, he couldn’t have been. It must be something else. Something that required further investigation. So then… “I shall accompany you.”

The assistant turned to look at him.  _ “Excuse _ me?”

“I shall accompany you,” Michael repeated, confidence building as he spoke. “Friends spend time together, do they not? And, as I said, the flesh-hive is rash, but it should not be foolish enough to attack you while  _ I _ am near. So I shall accompany you to your archives.”

“… Even if I say no, that wouldn’t stop you.”

It was not a question. Michael simply watched and waited, just barely keeping himself from trembling in anticipation.

The assistant sighed. “You know what? Fine. I’m going home because it’s been a long day of looking into the supernatural and talking to monsters who love riddles. If you’re going to show up at the archives tomorrow, at least bring me a coffee. Black with two sugars.”

And then she was gone.

Michael sat in his chair for far too long, trying to place the feeling bubbling inside of him. The closest he could get was calling it awestruck.

* * *

“What the  _ fuck!” _

“I brought coffee,” Michael told the handsome assistant in the Hawaiian shirt who was brandishing a stapler like a weapon.

The assistant was staring openly, eyes bulging. “What is—your  _ hands.  _ Who the fuck  _ are _ you?”

“I am a  _ what, _ not a who.”

“Fucking—god, of course you are,  _ great,” _ the assistant seethed. “So what, going to steal my skin? Wear my face and pretend to be me? You sick  _ bastard.” _

“No,” Michael said. “That is far more the domain of I Do Not Know You than it is of the Twisting Deceit. I am here to see Sasha James. She asked me to bring her a coffee. Do you know where she is?”

“You’re not getting to Sasha, you twisted son of a—”

“Tim?  _ Michael?” _

“Ah, Sasha James,” Michael said. He went to take a step towards her but, seeing how the other assistant seemed ready to attack at any moment, he refrained. “I brought you coffee.”

Sasha stared, dumbstruck. “I’m sorry,  _ what?” _

Her confusion was palpable to Michael and especially delicious. “You said that if I wished to be your friend that I must care about you. And you said that if I were to show up to the archives that you would prefer I come with a coffee.” When Sasha and the assistant didn’t immediately react, Michael gave the paper cup he was holding a small shake. “Black with no sugars, yes?”

A heavy silence hung between them, the assistant still pointing the stapler at him and Sasha’s eyes frantically flitting about. Then Sasha stepped forward and took the coffee from Michael. The assistant’s cry of protest was only half out of his mouth by the time that Sasha had swallowed.

“Huh,” Sasha said. “Not bad.”

Michael suddenly felt warm and too-small for the amount of energy that is rushing through him. “Of course.”

“Hold the fuck up, could someone  _ please _ explain to me—”

“Right,” Sasha cut in. “Michael, this is Tim. He works in the archives but you already know that, don’t you. Tim, this is Michael. He’s…” Sasha purses her lips, glanced at Michael. “He’s a tentative friend.”

Michael offered her a smile. The handsome assistant swore under his breath. Sasha seemed stunned, perhaps even horrified, but shakily returned it.

“That’s not—Sasha, that is  _ not _ a friend,” the assistant hissed out. “That’s a  _ monster.” _

“A monster that wants to help. Apparently.”

“And you  _ trust _ it?”

She took another sip of coffee. “No. But I don’t think he’s going to do anything  _ yet.” _

Michael didn’t blink—he no longer needed to—but he felt as though he should. Not trusting him was smart, that much he understood, so why did it not feel  _ right _ to hear her say that? It must be because she’d caught on so quickly. Yes, that was likely it. Strange, but there was a first time for everything.

The handsome assistant did not seem happy with this. “So, what? It won’t shred us to pieces  _ now  _ so we’re just letting it waltz right on in?”

“I was invited,” Michael reminded him.

The assistant shot a pointed look at Sasha.

“Look, it’s not—” Sasha bit her lip. “Okay, I should have told everyone what I was doing, I get it. But what else was there to  _ do? _ He knows about Prentiss and we still don’t have any leads on her since she went after Martin. What was I supposed to do, just walk away from him?”

“Uh,  _ yeah _ Sasha, you were.”

Sasha opened her mouth. Closed it. Sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, let’s—we’ll talk about this later, okay? Right now I need to figure out how I’m going to tell Jon and Martin about this.”

The assistant let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “Yeah, you’re on your own with that one. I just—I’ll be here, if you need help, but I am  _ not _ about to explain why some skin-stealing monster is here.”

Something in Sasha’s expression shifted, some kind of realization clicking into place. “Oh, god, Tim, I didn’t even think—”

“It’s  _ fine,” _ the assistant forced out. His lie tasted angry and hurt. He turned his glare to Michael. “If you even  _ think _ about bringing your shitshow of a circus here, I’ll, I’ll—”

Oh. “I see.” Michael paused for a moment. “I am not allied with The Circus, nor any of the others that align themselves with I Do Not Know You.” Not strictly a lie yet nowhere near the full truth. It came so very naturally. “I have no intention of aiding them. In fact, I would much rather prevent their goals from being realized.”

The assistant did not drop his guard, but his eyes  _ sparked. _ “You want to take them down, then?”

“I have no plans to move against The Circus at this time, but I would not mind if something else were to… disrupt them.”

“… You give me information about them and you don’t even fucking  _ think _ about touching anyone here and you can stay. For now.”

Michael grinned. The assistant did not flinch this time. “A deal, then. For now.”

At long last, Tim the stapler down. “Great. Okay.” He took in a deep breath. “I’m going to go tell Martin.  _ You _ can deal with Jon.”

“Tim—”

“Not right now,” Tim stopped her. “I need some space. Just… make sure Jon doesn’t immediately die from a heart attack when you tell him.”

Sasha nodded. “Okay. We’ll talk?”

The assistant looked at the wall. “Later, yeah.” He swallowed. “Good luck with the boss-man.”

And then he was gone.

“Okay,” Sasha breathed out. “That could have gone better.”

Michael refrained from commenting.

Sasha continued, “Jon is… a pretty big skeptic. He says that all of the statements are hallucinations or drunken ramblings or weird pranks or some combination of those, but he’s been… better about it recently. He believed Martin about Jane Prentiss, is even letting him stay in document storage until it’s safe, whenever  _ that _ is. So just… if you’re going to stay here,  _ please _ don’t make things weird.” After a glance at him, she amended, “Weirder than you absolutely have to.”

A tall order for something like Michael, but that was not the part that he was stuck on. “Your Archivist… does not believe in the supernatural?”

“If he  _ does _ then he’s done a hell of a job hiding it.”

That was… hm. Michael didn’t know what to think of that. Gertrude had always believed in the supernatural, had  _ always _ known of its existence, even if she’d hidden it from Michael Shelley.

Could it be that Jonah Magnus was doing something similar? Deliberately hiding evidence of the horrors of this world from his Archivist? Leaving him to stumble around in the dark, an unknowing lamb being led to slaughter?

Michael did not like the fiery emotion that surged through him at the thought. It was too big and too hot, too near to something human for the likes of him. He smothered it as quickly as he could, but the heat of it lingered still.

“I cannot promise much,” Michael said, careful to keep his voice even, “but to the best of my abilities I shall refrain from being… especially strange.”

“Guess that’s about as much as I could have expected,” Sasha sighed. “Alright. I’ll go and just… talk to him about this. Wait here until I call for you.”

Part of Michael wanted to bristle at being told what to do so plainly. A larger part of him had him nodding and saying, “Of course.”

Sasha took in a deep breath, drew her shoulders back, and ten walked directly into the Archivist's office without knocking, door clicking shut behind her.

Alone, Michael looked around the archives, taking stock. They hadn’t changed much since he’d last seen them, or had they? The structure of it seemed similar to his own memories of them, but going off of  _ that  _ was unreliable at best. He did get the distinct impression that the archives were messier than usual, though. Perhaps Gertrude had thrown it into disarray before her demise? Or maybe the current Archivist and his assistants were less than well-organized. Something in Michael itched to rearrange the documents and statements he saw. He ignored it.

It wasn’t long until Michael could make out the sound of hurried footsteps approaching the archives. He turned his head just in time to see two of the assistants—Tim and a new one, this one large with an air of softness and steel about him. The large assistant radiated fear like a lighthouse and his hands were shaking, but his gaze was steady.

Michael hadn’t realized he’d closed the distance between them until he was looming over the assistant, drinking in his horror like a man starved, what little structure his form pretended to have slipping away into something more fearsome, something just on the wrong side of unknowable. Both of the assistants were fearful, terrified by the predator before them, but they were not rooted. The large assistant shouldered Tim behind him, keeping his eyes fixed on Michael. That was no easy feat, staring directly at the Distortion when it was like  _ this. _

That bravery, foolish and all too familiar, was what made Michael draw himself back in and take a step away from the assistants. The fear was still there, far more tantalizing than it had any right to be, but Michael could not lose control this early. Not if he wanted to prove himself trustworthy.

Hah. An extension of The Spiral trying to be trustworthy. Michael wanted to laugh.

“My apologies,” Michael started before either of the assistants could properly react. “I am Michael.”

The large assistant let out a huff of air. “R-right. Um.”

“It is nice to meet you, Martin,” Michael said, helping the man introduce himself.

The assistant did not seem pleased with this. “Right.  _ Right. _ It’s, it’s nice to meet you too, Michael.” A lie, but only partially. Strange. “I don’t—um.”

“What the hell was  _ that?” _ Tim demanded.

“You might call it an instinct,” Michael answered easily. “It took me by surprise, but it is easily suppressed. Nothing that you must worry about.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make me worry less.”

Michael shrugged. “I shall not keep you from your paranoia if you insist on it.”

That was when the door to the Archivist’s door flew open, slamming into the wall with a loud  _ thud. _

Michael turned his gaze to the Archivist, bracing himself for this new acolyte of The Eye, Gertrude’s fearsome successor—

He was short. The Archivist was  _ short _ and terrified and dressed like a librarian and so much smaller than Gertrude ever was.

The Archivist craned his neck back, staring at Michael with eyes that possessed no real power. He gawked openly and staggered back as if struck.

Michael was overcome with the absurd desire to… to… to do  _ something. _ The Archivist just seemed so  _ vulnerable _ and for some reason Michael did not immediately wish to take advantage of it. It was bizarre.

“Who, who are you?” the Archivist stammered out.

Considering how Tim had reacted, Michael simply responded, “I am Michael. I wish to help.”

The Archivist gave Sasha a wide-eyed look. She made a face that screamed “I told you so.”

The Archivist cleared his throat. “I-I see. Help with  _ what _ exactly?”

“The flesh-hive. I believe you call it Jane Prentiss? I hold no fondness for The Crawling Rot and it is a pest that is best dealt with before it can spread and infect.”

“Y-you’re going to help with Prentiss?” the large assistant asked.

“Yes. And The Circus as well, I suppose.”

“Circus?”

Tim tensed. “I’ll explain it later.”

“I don’t—I don’t know if—” the Archivist looked around at his assistants. “Are we  _ really _ inviting a monster to stay in the archives? To help us?”

“We’re hardly inviting him to  _ stay in the archives,”  _ Sasha said. Besides, I think it’s fine. For now. And, like I’ve said to the others, it’s not like he could stop him.”

“If I wished for you to die, you would not be uncertain of my motives,” Michael assured. “You would be mad with fear and running for your life.”

The large assistant squeaked and Michael could feel the fear rise from the four humans that surrounded him. Michael hadn’t wanted to garner that reaction.

“… Right,” the Archivist breathed out. “I, I’m going to—I’m going to go in my office. Sasha, you can… help show Michael around. I… I have some questions that I want to ask him afterwards.” In a mutter, he continued, “Once I figure out what to ask.”

The Archivist scuttled back into his office, reeking of fear and raw nerves. Michael wasn’t sure if he was sad to see him go or not.

“I’ll help,” Tim volunteered. “Don’t want anyone getting lost.”

“I-I’ll come with, too,” the large assistant added.

Michael was not so obtuse as to not see what they were doing. Not being alone made them feel safer. Their numbers would mean nothing to him if he truly wished to hurt them, but he would not begrudge them their illusion of safety for now.

“Please then,” Michael grinned, “lead the way.”

* * *

“I have drinks,” Michael announced as he walked into the archives.

Sasha and Tim immediately began to make their ways over to him, taking their coffees—black and two sugars for Sasha, some iced caramel latte monstrosity for Tim. Martin went to go and get Jon from his office.

“Thanks Michael,” Tim sighed after taking a few gulps of his drink. “Don’t know how we would survive without you.”

“You seemed to manage well enough before me,” Michael pointed out.

“Cheeky,” Tim smiled. “Don’t know how we managed to get through the day without an eldritch horror doing drink runs for us.”

Michael grinned. Tim just winked at him. Sasha snorted at the two of them and rolled her eyes.

It had been almost three months since Michael had first set foot into the archives and met the assistants and their Archivist. They’d been wary at first, fairly so, but as time stretched on and Michael assisted with casework and answered questions and brought drinks to them and refrained from killing or otherwise tormenting them, they’d started to adjust to his presence. Started to go out of their ways to talk to him, or offer him tea, or call him ‘friend.’

It was strange. Michael found that he enjoyed it.

Martin had finally managed to wrangle Jon out of his office and the two of them accepted their drinks with “thank you”s and smiles.

“How’re the statements coming along?” Sasha asked.

“Fine,” Jon said. “I haven’t found anything new on Prentiss since uncovering her statement, all dead ends, but I’ve been making headway with digitally transcribing the other statements.”

Michael let out a small hum in acknowledgement, not caring too much one way or another. The Archivist was slowly, inevitably making his way towards becoming a monster. Already Michael could taste the faintest hints of compulsion in the Archivist’s questions. He was not truly powerful, not yet. It would be better to kill him sooner rather than later, before his powers could fully develop, but Michael knew that he would have to wait. He needed to act when it would hurt The Eye the most, and the Archivist was too much of a fledgling for it to matter now. Michael wasn’t looking forward to his death, so making it as quick as possible would probably work out in his favor.

The assistants would either die before their Archivist or quit after his demise. Michael would miss them, though he was sure that like his feelings with the Archivist, he’d perhaps be a bit down but ultimately unaffected.

By the time Michael bothered to tune back into the conversation, the others were talking about the worms that were trying to get into the institute and how there seemed to be more of them than last week. They had all taken to being extremely careful when making their way into the building, though Michael was more than happy to skewer the little blights. He had not been lying when he had said that he bore no fondness for the servants of Filth.

“They haven’t managed to get inside yet, at least,” Tim was saying. “And no one else in the other departments has even seen them. So that’s something.”

“I don’t like what that implies,” Sasha said. “If we’re the only ones that they go after that means they’re specifically targeting  _ us.” _

Tim grimaced at that. “Yeah, that’s… not ideal.”

“We’ll be fine,” Martin declared. Michael could taste the doubt in his words, but it wasn’t a lie. “We’ve been okay so far and, and it’s not like we’re defenseless.”

Everyone glanced at Michael. He couldn’t help but preen under their gazes. “I assure you, Jane Prentiss is no match for one such as me.”

The relief in all of their faces was intoxicating. Michael wanted them to petrify them and keep them like that forever. A silly thought, but an honest and earnest one.

“I should probably get back to it,” Jon sighed. “Thank you again, Michael.”

“See you at lunch?” Martin asked.

Jon snorted. “If not then you’ll drag me away from my desk and ensure I eat anyway.”

Martin’s face went pink. “Well,  _ someone _ has to make sure you’re getting at least one meal a day.”

“Quite. See you all then, I suppose.”

As they all dispersed to go back to their work, Michael followed Sasha to her desk. She hardly paid him any mind as her fingers began pecking at her keyboard. Michael threaded his own fingers through the strands of her hair, twirling and curling it. Sasha leaned back into the familiar touch as Michael began to braid it into impossible patterns.

* * *

When Jane Prentiss arrived, Michael knew what must be done. 

He was to stand back, let the cards fall where they may as worms flooded the institute. Hopefully the Archivist would bear a Mark by the end of the day. Maybe he would die instead. Maybe one of the assistants would die. Likely more than one of them would meet their demise before this was all over. It would be for the best, really. Michael could recognize a test for what it was, and this most certainly was one where failure had steep consequences.

It was time for them to sink or swim.

Michael watched as the Archivist broke the wall and the worms poured in. Listened to the Archivist and two of his assistants run into document storage, watched as one of them ran out to save the other. Saw Sasha James confront Jonah Magnus, plead for his help. Looked on as Timothy Stoker broke down the wall and ran into the tunnels with Martin Blackwood and the Archivist.

He ignored them each time they called his name. He told himself that it did not hurt to do so.

And then Sasha James stumbled into artefact storage. And then the Not-Them began to creep from its table.

Michael watched the assistant call out to it, watched her step  _ towards _ it, wondered if his presence had killed all of her self-preservation instincts. Realized she might not have ever had them in the first place as he remembered how she’d approached all too long ago in that small café.

The Not-Them lunged for her.

It should have consumed her, feasted on her soul, stolen her face and replaced it with a new one.

Instead, it screamed as Michael’s fingers plunged into its disgusting, featureless form.

Sasha screamed, too, her fear pouring off in a way Michael had never felt before, not from her. Michael began to shred it, tearing it apart in the way only a monster of The Spiral could.

How dare it? How dare this worthless creature try to hurt  _ Michael’s _ Sasha.

It would pay for its crime.

Sasha had stopped screaming as the Not-Them’s wailings simply grew louder. It was already weakened from the table that had held it prisoner for so long, barely able to survive off of the scraps of fear it had been collecting.

And now? Now it was  _ afraid. _

With a roar of static and an explosion of impossible colors, Michael consumed it. It was hardly a meal, hardly worth the energy spent on feeding from it.

But sating his appetite wasn’t the point.

Soon, it was quiet, the only audible sound that of Sasha’s heavy, uneven breathing.

Michael stitched his form back together enough to be vaguely human, enough to not be completely horrific to gaze upon. He turned to her.

Neither of them spoke.

“Are…” Michael started, “are you… alright?”

Sasha let out a breathless laugh, tinged with hysteria. “No. No I’m  _ not.” _

Michael nodded. He expected as much. He was still not ready for the sadness that flooded through him at her answer.

“Tim, and Jon and Martin,” Sasha said. “They’re still—”

“I will find them,” Michael promised. That much truth, that much earnestness, it  _ burned _ him. He did not care. “They will be alright so long as there is anything I can do to make it so.”

Sasha nodded jerkily. “I’m going to go and try to, to get to the CO 2 . I’ll… I’ll see you all after this is all over?”

“Yes. You will.”

* * *

They’d made it out. They’d  _ all _ made it out.

Michael had gone after Prentiss herself, hoping that keeping her preoccupied would buy enough time for Sasha to set off the fire suppressant system before Tim, Jon, or Martin could run into any worms.

She had.

Jane Prentiss’ dying scream alone would have been enough to give everyone who heard it nightmares. Michael had inhaled it like a drowning man.

She had been so afraid at the end, so afraid of losing what had made her feel accepted and loved. It was a mercy that she hadn’t wanted.

Michael stood back as more people and emergency response teams arrived on the scene. The Archivist and his assistants had all reunited outside of the institute, each somewhat frantically relaying their experiences to the others. By the time they’d finished, Sasha had broken down crying into Martin’s chest. Michael wished he could offer her comfort.

By the time everyone had either filed back into the building or left for the day, they were all exhausted to their core. Michael waited until Jonah Magnus had left the archives before opening a door into it.

The creak alerted the four people inside to his presence. For a moment, Michael was pinned under their collective gazes. He no longer had a heart, but if he did it would have been in his throat.

And then Sasha burst forward and threw her arms around him.

_ “Thank you,” _ she whispered fiercely. “I don’t—we wouldn’t have—thank you so much.”

Michael stood there, hands hanging uselessly in the air. With great care, he slowly returned her embrace.

Something strange happened then. It felt as though there had been pressure building and building, only for it to suddenly be released all at once. It ached and drained, but not in a way that hurt. It felt cathartic, freeing. Almost… almost like he was…

Crying. He was crying.

He hadn’t known he could still do that.

“Of course,” Michael said, voice inlaid with static. “I could not imagine standing by. Not when you were in danger.”

Sasha shook her head against his chest but did not say anything. Michael didn’t think he could have been able to handle it if she had.

Michael used one hand to wipe away his tears. The others were watching, too many emotions on their faces for Michael to pick apart. And then Tim was stepping forward and squishing Sasha and Michael into a hug. Martin and Jon followed quickly after, the five of them huddled together in one another’s arms.

Michael closed his eyes against the emotions that swelled up in him.

He would protect them, this Archivist and his assistants. No matter the cost, he would do everything he could to ensure their wellbeing.

It was, he remembered, what one did for the people they loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out this [cool art that ebenrosetaylor made for this fic!!!](https://ebenrosetaylor.tumblr.com/post/643247777248428032/i-brought-coffee-michael-told-the-handsome) I lost my shit over it, holy hell. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Please be sure to kudo, bookmark, and leave a comment if you enjoyed this fic!
> 
> You can find me [here on tumblr.](https://zykaben.tumblr.com) Feel free to hit me up there!


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